


He Still Insists He Sees the Ghosts

by devdog64



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Assuming Richie is bi or gay, Bittersweet Ending, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Dark, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Loss, M/M, Not kidding, Post-Canon, Reddie, Richie's Voices were pretty racist in the book, Suspense, Tags May Change, but I tried to tone it down, dubcon elements, pretty dark at some points, when memory wiping goes wrong
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-16
Updated: 2018-07-20
Packaged: 2019-05-07 16:22:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 15,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14674875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/devdog64/pseuds/devdog64
Summary: After all they've done, it's hard to imagine returning to a normal life. But the higher powers are not without mercy. Once they leave Derry, the brutal memories wane once more. The remembrance of their hard-won victory seems to fade like the Summer days they once shared, for all but one of them. Rich Tozier begins to question the shadows of his memory when he starts 'hallucinating' in his booth.Reddie, Post-story.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Contains Spoilers for both book and movie(s)! Nothing beside big ones if you're concerned. This story contains elements from the book and movies and I started writing it after finishing both as a sort of fix-it-fic. It quickly turned into something else. Rated for swearing, violence, suicide reference, and dubcon elements (dubcon does not necessarily occur, but could be construed as such). This chapter specifically only includes swearing, I will note which chapters contain what when I get there. Anyway, I hope you like it!

It's in those early hours a week after they've killed It that he has his first doubts. He knew they couldn't destroy It-not in that other place-that place Outside-but Its physical form was gone, wasn't it?

It's around 1 AM, a couple of hours before he will pass off the microphone to some unfortunate intern with bleary eyes. Maybe Richie will see in the other's eyes the melancholy of knowing their voice will go unheard this early in the morning or maybe Rich will just brush by him in order to ensure at least a few hours of rest before he opens the work day again.

Steve Covall had not forgotten about being 'bushed out on' even after Richie became Rich again (of course that had happened on the plane ride back, hadn't it? Besides that one call from-who was it-Mike?). Rich had two to three shifts a day at the station ever since he'd gotten back from… where was it again? Derry? He shook his head to forget the memories that threatened to pop up from that notion. It didn't really matter when he was working 60+ hours a week. He couldn't even blame Steve after ditching all of the sudden like he did so he had decided to suffer through the next month of all-nighters and just wait for the dust to settle.

But yes, it had been around 1, in that sweet spot after the late-nighters stopped calling and before the insomniacs started. It had been a long time since he was behind the mic at this time and he had forgotten how quiet the station was when it was just him in the booth.

Rich appreciated it somewhat though. He felt he'd been using his Voices non-stop for the past week and welcomed a break (no one would be up to hear him) even if he did hate the silence. He had the music though and playing it as loud as he was, his discomfort was easily drowned out.

It was only in these small hours that he began to lose trust-or at least feel like something was out of place.

It was a giggle in the empty radio station-a fucking child's giggle in the world of grownups-the first time he noticed anything wrong. Richie's head whipped around fast enough to make his neck creak in some old reflex that was hard to kill, but of course there was nothing there, there usually never is when a noise sounds this late at night. Yet..wasn't there a time when there was something there?

Again, Rich shook his head, nervously laughing to himself. It was the sleeplessness, wasn't it? Didn't you start hearing things when you didn't get enough sleep?

It was easy enough to push it aside and internally debate which song should go on next-what he didn't realize was that this debate was anything, but internal.

It was a few days before something else seemed to tip in his sleep-deprived mind, again in those few hours where he finally got that brief respite in using his Voice, yet still felt so utterly alone. He tried to enjoy these hours, but Rich was slowly awakening to a budding paranoia for these few moments he spent alone.

Rich tried to rationalize the sounds (the creaks, the light bumps, even the giggles-surely that was a squeaky floorboard somewhere, surely) as more obvious during the night, as figments of his too-long-awake brain, but he couldn't deny that they seemed to be more frequent once he was aware of them.

There were times that he felt like the air-pregnant with his anxieties and paranoia-was pushing in on him as the walls seemed to recede and the feeling was so terrifyingly familiar that Rich found himself reaching more and more for the tamer music the station allowed in an attempt to calm himself.

He felt the prickles on the back of his neck as if someone's breath was lightly falling there. He knew if he turned, the booth would be just as empty as it had when he arrived, but he was too keyed up to do it. Too stuck in the will I-won't I-will it-won't It—

The phone-set to only ring while the mic was off-pealed suddenly over the sound of the music. It rang loud enough that Rich jumped-something crude stuck in his throat. The initial shock faded into incongruous terror as the DJ stared at the phone. Who the fuck would be calling the station at 2:06 AM? There'd rarely ever been a call past 1:30, past 2 and before 3? That was unheard of.

Rich's hand paused above the phone-who would he hear if he answered? An insomniac requesting a song? Worse, a child's laughter? Even worse, something pooled in his mind-familiarity screaming at him in the muscle memory of his limbs, run, run, run—

Numbly, he saw more than felt his hand close around the receiver and lift it. His eyes flitted nervously around the room and what he saw reflected in the dark glass stopped his blood cold in his veins. His stomach sunk, growing warm somewhere below the floor.

Backlighted by the seemingly far off lights of the equipment ( _deadlights moving toward him_ ), Richie made eye contact with his reflection, but something loomed behind him-he could feel its breath, could feel moisture and smell It.

Later, Richie wondered-briefly before pushing the memory farther down-if it was a clown, or a lopsided shadow of something he wanted to remember even less if possible.

The vision was gone when he blinked and he almost imagined a popping sound accompanying its disappearance. His eyes stared in that direction unmoving, unseeing, as his mind went blank and a cold sweat broke out along his back.

The next thing Rich was capable of comprehending was the angry voice of the caller, tiny with the receiver so far from his ear. He brought it closer to catch the end of whatever complaint they had.

"—not funny, some prank bullshit in the goddamn middle of the night!" the man on the other end was saying.

"This is Records Tozier, best DJ in LA with KLAD! How can I help ya tonight?" Rich had already slipped back into the identity ( _safety_ ) of radio host, momentarily forgetting the vision. It was so easy to forget.

"Why are you on so late at night? This some kind of fuckin' prank, man?" The other voice was still angry.

"What do you mean?" Rich was going to continue into one of his Voices or some joke, but the caller interrupted him.

"All that laughing and shit, what the fuck was that? It's not fuckin' Halloween."

Rich's mind went blank for a moment, even as his mouth ran on without him. "No shit, bub. Why don't cha call the clown to see what's up?" He managed to catch up with his mouth before he went off on a worrying tangent. "KNDU and that joke of a DJ's phone lines must be crossing ours, our stations are right next to each other, sorry about that man."

The caller seemed somewhat appeased about the explanation. Turned out, he just wanted some real rock instead of the pansy shit Rich was playing to calm himself. Speaking of calming himself, Rich had to take a few deep breaths as he suddenly imagined hands closing around his neck from behind.

"Tell you what, I'll play you a few hits your way, but I'll have to mix it in, ya know? Most people don't like too much this late at night and I get complaints from management." Rich expertly lied.

"Fine," the caller grumbled. "Surprised you don't get complaints with that creepy line crossing."

Rich offered a nervous laugh as he hung up the phone. He stared at his shaking hand as he brought it back and blindly popped in some AC/DC. He spent the rest of the night, pointedly avoiding the reflective surface of the glass.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song mentioned is _Stop Children What's That Sound_ by Buffalo Springfield, if anyone wants to hear it. :) I did a little research on the time period and radio stations, but I understand there still might be some inconsistencies. Hopefully, they're not too bad. Background info: Steve Covall is Richie's boss at the radio station. I think in the book, they mention Eddie left Derry first, so I'm keeping that here. Anyway, hope you enjoy!

It became a self-deprecating cycle. Every night shift something happened and every morning Rich pushed it down, rationalized it away, calling himself a dumb child the whole time. Nothing shook him enough to consider requesting a schedule change from the (still fuming) Steve until June 15th, or rather the 16th at 2:30 AM.

Saturday nights were always busy, but surprisingly only a few people called in that night-one complaining of hearing odd, stuttering static behind the music, "like someone groaning, really," she had said, before flirting with him and requesting some song or another. He gracefully managed to flirt back and set the song to go, before crashing back into his chair.

There were more and more calls like that lately. He'd mentioned it to the other DJ's who brushed him off and told him to get some rest. Rich didn't know what was worse, that some of the calls didn't show up on the machine that automatically recorded them all or that some did.

Rich was popping in another request, some ancient tune by today's standards when he was struck by the compulsion to gaze into the glass window that separated him from the rest of the radio equipment. That small closet where some tech would usually sit during the day was always empty at night. The dark room with its dark window reflecting those few lights

( _"Don't look at them!"_ a voice echoed in his mind)

came to the forefront of his consciousness as the familiar song's synth guitar reverbed in his ears. Rich could feel his head lifting despite his thoughts screaming at him to stop as the first verse played,

_'There's something happening here.'_

His eyes widened madly as they slowly moved to face that window. It seemed to take an eternity of him resisting the movement and still following through with it as the song played mercilessly on.

_'Stop, he-ey, what's that so-ound,_

_Everybody look what's going do-ownn'_

When his eyes finally lighted on the glass-black in the darkness, he almost laughed when his own wide-eyed stare was the only thing he saw. Rich chuckled under his breath as his hands relaxed. He watched the blinking lights for a moment, comforted by the semblance of normalcy.

_'Paranoia strikes deep,'_

Rich set the next song up to keep the music playing, but his eyes were drawn to the window again perhaps by a masochistic curiosity or a morbid compulsion to make sure nothing was reflected there. At least nothing besides him staring stupid and wide-eyed at a thin piece of glass.

_'Into your life it will creep,'_

Immediately, he was comforted by his lonely reflection before he saw something shift behind it. Rich blinked his eyes hard, but still felt he could see something moving in that small closet.

_'It starts when you're always afraid,'_

Suddenly, the blurry shape moved, cleared, and snapped toward Rich who took half a step back from the monstrous visage he couldn't quite remember later. A hand shot out from the records box grabbing hold of his wrist.

_'You step out of line,'_

Rich screamed, trying to pull his hand back. There was some give behind the arm as if it wasn't properly attached to anything, yet the hand remained firm. His struggles only managed to help… whatever it was farther out of the box.

_'the man come and take you away.'_

A body rose from the box, head down, the arm distorted and obviously broken. Rich began hyperventilating as the chorus rolled in again to repeat until the end of the song.

_'Stop, he-ey, what's that so-ound,'_

The head rose last, face pale and familiar, a whistling noise grating through the air. The face was frozen in pain, in terror, but still not as disturbing as the bloody hole replacing its other arm.

"Richie," the lips parted dryly, a hoarse voice escaping. In cold horror, Rich thought, hadn't he once touched those lips with reverent fingers as a child?

_'Everybody look what's going do-ownn'_

"Why did you leave me?" Eddie's corpse-it was his corpse, it had to be his corpse-asked, voice breaking and Richie felt tears sting his eyes.

_Yes,_ Richie thought, numbly. _I was going to kiss him when his mom decided to move. I wanted him to know I didn't want him to leave, I wanted you to know I loved you just as much-more than Bev. I just-I just didn't…_

The chorus grew more distorted in the background, as Richie choked on a reply, his mind already attempting to make him forget. _Not Eddie, please, don't make me forget Eds, not again._

"I-"Richie started, a lump forming in his throat as the room seemed to grow darker. Eddie's washed out face was still moving toward him and Richie attempted to move back. Only there was something solid blocking his way back to his chair. He didn't have to turn around to know what it was, his thumping heart in his throat could do that for him.

Eddie's face leered at him as hands settled heavily on his shoulders.

"Speechless for once, Richie?" the thing hissed from behind him. "Why did you leave poor Eddie down there with me? I thought you at least cared about him." The music graveled on in a minor key rendition of the melody.

"Why didn't you kiss him-me that day?" Terrifyingly, the corpse and It spoke at once, voices deep and rumbling through Richie's chest.

"I-I—" The fear constricted Richie's throat for a moment. _"Ay didn' wanna tain' ya purty lil mouth wuth ma germs, yessur!"_ The Voice came unbidden, almost in response to his fear. It was enough that the hands left his shoulders, but he was unsure if it would even work on Eddie. Didn't they kill It? Weren't these hallucinations a product of his guilt? If he never got over it, would they ever end?

Eddie's eyes narrowed, but cleared somewhat. "I never cared about your germs, Richie," he whispered in a voice that was only his own, a voice that haunted Richie's nightmares-nightmares he could rarely even remember.

_'wh-ha-at-t's go-oin-ng do-ow-own…'_

The song should have ended by now. Worst of all, Eddie continued moving closer to him, the room growing darker, "and if it means anything at all, I wanted to kiss you that day too."

Tears fell unbidden down Richie's face as the room continued to darken. He could see the apparition still moving closer to him and dimly, numbly he let it come.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying to update once a week and I've been doing well so far! I hope everyone is enjoying it! If you wait for the end, I'll leave some spoilers from IT to help understand this fic for those who haven't finished the full canon yet. I worked really hard to get the same kind of unsure-suspenseful-terrifying vibe from the book. Hope you enjoy!

Rich had a sinking suspicion he was losing time. He wondered vaguely if it was sleep deprivation, but his subconscious must have picked up on something-if the wave of baseless panic infecting all aspects of his life was any sign.

He would wake up at odd hours-at work (a song still playing out), during his rare times at home (the phone ringing-whistling breath on the other end). He would wonder how he had suddenly gotten on the floor, why he was checking the fridge, where he was, before he would continue on with his daily life.

Rich knew something was wrong, that maybe he was going crazy since his sabbatical-as Steve liked to call it. He showed up for work fine though and only a couple of interns seemed to suspect anything was wrong with him-only asking if he was feeling alright.

There wasn't really anyone else to care enough he figured. The notion didn't come with sadness or anything like that-it was more a fact than anything-but what followed managed to bring tears to his eyes.

I care about you, Richie. Something else had starting to talk in his head-a recent development he tried not to think about. Rarely, occasionally, the voice of the child, the man, the person he had loved filled his brain.

At one time, he would be momentarily sad before the voice would fade and he would forget. Now, the words seemed to stick as if tattooed on the inside of his eyelids.

Whether it was out of grief or fear, Rich was unsure, but he cried himself to sleep for the first time in years.

When he awoke, Rich found he'd been startled awake from a dream, perhaps a nightmare. It was already dying away and his alarm was now going off as well, so he lifted himself from the bed, tiredly.

He hadn't bothered to break open a new set of contacts (and besides his eyes were irritated enough as it was from the hours he was working) so he was stuck with glasses for the time. He wandered into the kitchen for some breakfast, turning on the news as he went.

Rich found himself having to force food down on more than one occasion these days and briefly he wondered if he should be concerned about these new symptoms. Loss of appetite, restless nights… lost time.

Rich sat down on the couch with his oatmeal and glanced around his home as he forced bites down. What was happening to him? Was it stress from being overworked? Or was it…

Something was pulling his attention away from his own internal monologue.

His eyes lighted on the TV before him. It was of course still blaring, just background noise really. Sometimes he couldn't stand to be alone in the quiet-it always had a way of contributing to his paranoia-but something was off-putting and distracting about the noise today. Maybe the show? Wasn't it set on the news?

He tuned back in momentarily.

"This just in, the hole that was once downtown Derry has doubled," the newscaster was saying. Rich's heart froze in his chest. _No, no, no, no…_

"Has it swallowed the Memorial Park yet?" the other asked.

"Not yet, Cheryl! Not yet!"

"What about the Clubhouse?" Cheryl grinned at the camera.

"Well, of course! Wouldn't you think we would've flooded that shithole first?"

"Oh! I totally forgot, Don!" The two shared a laugh, before Rich cut the power.

His hands were shaking. He put them to his head in an attempt to still himself. It was a moment before a flicker of movement caught his eye from between his fingers. Exhausted, he gazed up at the TV.

It was a vague shape that materialized in the reflection of the glass, slowly as if it was oozing out of the wall. He watched it warily, doubtfully as it grew. Was he losing his mind? Was this just another hallucination? Should he even be scared if it wasn't even real?

Its edges began to clear and Rich was not surprised to see the clown forming out of the wall. Something was mildly off about its image, but his memory was so wrecked he couldn't put his finger on it.

His eyes did not move from the reflection until he heard a thump behind the couch, which startled him from his spot. He fell to the floor, finding his legs would not hold him up.

Rich heard a rhythmic bumping around the edges of his couch and he whipped around to face the wall, but froze. The clown was still forming, clarifying from its place on the wall, even while whatever was moving around his couch was approaching from behind him.

"Why, Richie?" It was a distant whine. Rich's heart fell. "Why did you leave me in the dark?"

"I'm sorry… I'm so sorry." Richie stayed slumped on the floor, dimly wondering if he was dreaming or not. He could never be sure anymore.

"I thought you loved me, Richie."

"I-I still do." An arm settled around his collarbone, loosely around his neck, from behind. This time there was only one and he felt the grind in the fracture as it pulled around him.

"Like Bill and Bev… like Ben and Bev?" The whispers were next to Richie's ear as he felt a body move against his back. He breathed in a shuddering breath.

"M-more, you kno-knew that." Richie had to accept what had happened, had to somehow. The hold on him tightened.

"And yet, yet you let them leave me."

"They-we couldn't—" Richie leaned forward, trying to turn his head. The hold tightened farther, preventing him from turning.

"You managed to get that woman out! That woman who wasn't even there anymore. That woman who was never even a part of us." Its voice was deeper, suddenly more terrifying.

Richie slumped again, deflated. "I know."

"You saw her. If I wasn't coming back, she sure as hell wasn't."

"I know." It was exactly what he had thought at the time. He just knew he couldn't voice those thoughts then-not to Bill, he deserved some shot at happiness after everything they'd put him through.

As if reading his mind, the thing that was once his closest friend, his childhood crush, spoke softly, "You deserve to be happy too."

Tears fell unbidden from Richie's eyes. _Why did it have to sound so much like he was really here?_

"Eddie…" He couldn't help it, wasn't it easier to imagine that Eddie was here and alive and…

"We deserve to be happy." Something in the voice made Richie's stomach sink. The arm shifted again and a hand cupped the side of Richie's face. "If they didn't get in the way, we _would_ be."

Richie shivered as he felt Eddie's face rub against his own, unable to pull away from the grip of his only hand and were those claws digging into his cheek?

"But don't worry, my love." The following chuckle brought fresh tears to Richie's eyes. "They won't matter anymore, will they? We'll all be together, we'll be _happy_ real soon."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WITH SPOILERS: So for those of you who haven't finished the story and haven't had parts spoiled, when the Losers are called back by Mike after 27 years to finish It off, Stan commits suicide before making the trip (they never really explain why in the book, but I have my theories which I explore a little in this fic and a companion comic I may never post). Side note, Bill's wife, Audra, follows Bill and is also taken by It and her mind is basically broken-still alive, but brain-dead. The Losers somehow make it to It and try to fight again, but it's a little different this time. Richie has to help Bill in a place called the Outside where It truly exists as some eldritch monstrosity. They still get overpowered and Eddie helps them in the real world after hearing Richie call for help. Unfortunately, after attacking It, It manages to bite off Eddie's arm-causing him to die of blood loss in the sewers. After the rest of the Losers kill It, they are forced to leave Eddie's corpse because Audra is still alive and they have to pass her around to get out. I was so bitter about how It ended that I started writing this as a fix-it-fic and then it got kind of darker than I wanted. But I'm much more content with where I plan to leave it off on.
> 
> ANYWAY, tl;dr, Stan and Eddie die when they're adults fighting It and no me gusta. Also, would 10/10 recommend reading the book if you have time. It's a monster of a book, but tons of Losers loving each other and lots of Reddie moments (honestly think they would've ended up together if It hadn't been published during the AIDS scare) and just TONS of info. TONS. It's great.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing much to say, this one's just a bit shorter than the others. Features my only big complaints against Bill as a character.

Rich awoke on the floor of his booth, the intern to relieve him shaking him awake. There were tears drying on his face, but he disregarded them for the jolt of pain in his head. How did he get here?

"Augh, fuck…" he groaned to himself.

"I'm so sorry, Mr. Tozier, I was ju-just worried that y-y-you weren't—" The intern babbled, but Rich raised a hand to stop him.

"Don't worry, kid, I just needed a little nap." Rich responded, lifting himself up.

"Ah-ah-are you sure? I could dr-druh—"

Rich shook his head, something in his head screaming at him about the stutter, the stutter, something about…

It wasn't until he made it to his beachside home that he made the connection. Any other morning he would have passed by the coffee table without a second glance, but his eyes lighted on the book. _The Black Rapids._

Bill… He needed to call Bill, he needed to… _shit_ … Bill had been the one to kill It right? But could It really die if It was actually in the Outside?

Rich couldn't remember everything, but the anxiety laced through his body all the same-seeming to be misplaced for what he could actually remember.

On a whim, he lifted the book, gazing at the inside of the cover. Turned out his instinct was right. Bill Denbrough himself had signed Richie's copy after Bev's, and lower, already fading, was a California address and two phone numbers. _Jackpot,_ he thought to himself.

Quickly, Richie relined the information in pen, figuring he would call when he woke up, but then he remembered Bill should be in the UK filming by now… or maybe at home in California with Audra.

He picked up the phone and dialed. The first number ended in an answering machine-Richie wasn't surprised Big Bill could afford the machine. He left a quick message in case no one answered on the second number.

The second number rang four times before a bleary voice answered.

"Yes? Hello?" it was a woman, sounding happy, but sleepy.

"Hey, Audra, was it? It's Richi-Rich Tozier, one of Bill's friends. We met in-well, didn't actually meet, but you know," he replied, moving through his home. A small laugh sounded, it seemed she had forgotten about her ordeal in their hometown-good for her.

"Of course, of course, let me get Bill," she replied. There were the sounds of air as the phone was passed, some murmured words.

"Richie?" a voice sounded bringing dull memories of summer and childhood and dark, dark places.

"Bill, I-we killed It, right? It's dead right?" He asked, might as well get it out there at the beginning.

"Yeah, I mean, I-" Bill paused for a moment, as if thinking about it. "I crushed Its heart, Its light faded out. Wh-why are you unsure?"

"I saw It." But there's something off about that, isn't there? He just saw Pennywise, he never…

"Y-yo-you saw It?" Bill sounded almost hysteric.

"I mean, I guess I more felt It. It came to the station, Eddie too."

"It has Eh-eddie?"

"I-I don't know, it's," Richie collected his thoughts before continuing. "I'm not sure if I'm hallucinating or not, I mean, I… I've been working a lot, but you're sure It was dead?"

"I'm sure. I heard the Turtle, It's dead. I don't think It could come back from that-I don't think It could make a new physical form here. At least not this quickly. Did It leave any marks on you? Anything lasting?"

Richie had to check over himself, but nothing seemed out of place.

"No, nothing. L-like I said I've been working a lot and I-I guess I… I feel guilty. We-we left him down there. We…" He trailed off. They hadn't talked about it after it had happened.

"I know. We just-we wouldn't have made it out. You know that."

The anger rose within Rich sudden and unbidden. What had Eddie said to him?

"And yet, we made it out with Audra fine. We had four well-abled people and we couldn't bring him back?"

"She was still alive, Richie! We had to pass her back and forth to just get her out of there. I'm sorry we couldn't-we couldn't bring him back, I'm sorry!"

"Barely! She was barely alive, but lo and behold, of course Big Bill can just bring her right back! You'll do anything for your movie star wife who you _cheated on_ the second you saw Bev, but your childhood friend? The one who _died_ saving us? The only person I could ever imagine spending my life with? You made us leave him down there in the dark! For what? Have you even told your wife what happened in Derry? Or are you just having your cake and eating it too?"

Bill stuttered for a moment. "You kn-nuh-know it's n-not like that. You couldn't even r-re-remember his name a week ag-go."

Rich ran a hand through his hair. "We always forget, don't we? Do these amazing and awful things and just forget everything?" Bill began to speak as if to protest, but Rich cut him off.

"Don't even. I'm at least willing to admit I'm no saint. We could've prevented so many deaths if we had just been smart about it, if we had just cared enough about other people outside our circle. If we didn't let the memories go so easily just to get our own selfish respite. Henry and his gang, all those kids, hell, your wife and Bev's husband-although he probably deserved it-got dragged in and part of me thinks we let them and just forgot the details to sleep at night.

"I wonder sometimes if Stan didn't. Forget, that is… Maybe he didn't… do it because he was scared of It. Maybe he did it because he was scared of us. We've done so much messed up shit to everyone around us, to each other, I wouldn't be surprised if we deserved everything that happened to us, if we don't deserve everything that might still happen. Hell, our own sins might be enough to bring It back all on their own."

"Wh-wuh-what are you trying to s-s-s-say? Do you t-think It's actually—"

"Nah, of course not. Big Bill knows everything and says It's dead, so surely not. Maybe I'm trying to say everything, everyone that chased us that Summer-maybe they weren't the only monsters in Derry." Rich passively lowered the receiver, he could hear Bill stuttering on the other end. Funny, he couldn't remember it ever irritating him as much as it did in that moment. He hung up the phone, a sneer on his face.

Rich half-expected to hear creaking or feel a hand seek him out like a ghostly after-image. Nothing came. He was alone in his home, finished with the one thing he'd thought he'd never do-doubting Big Bill. The pull to forget came and washed over him again, taking his memories and leaving a faint distrust… And of course, Eddie.

It did not surprise him that he could no longer forget Eddie, in fact, it surprised him that he'd ever managed to. With more than a hint of anger, Rich swore he would never forget Eddie again. As the phone rang beside him, Rich-still feeling that anger-ripped out the cord and settled down on his sofa.

As he drifted ( _floated_ ) into sleep, he blearily thought, _I'll never forget Eddie, because he'll never forget me._


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kind of an inbetween chapter. Setting up some stuff and addressing other things. Next chapter is going to be one of the longer ones. Enjoy!

Things seemed to shift after the call with Bill. It was like a switch had gone off in Richie's head. He was still terrified of the hallucinations-because that's what they were, right?-but he was able to think clearly throughout them. It's why he noticed the exact moment Eddie stopped acting so much like a puppet and more like the boy—man that Richie knew.

It wasn't like that all the time of course. Sometimes, Eddie seemed to be an extension of the monster without a name befitting Its malevolence, other times Eddie was a reflection of his (former) self, talking, even joking with Richie.

The apparition appeared more often, in his home, the radio station, behind his reflection. The black outs occurred more frequently as well and Richie started to question his ability to remember events correctly.

A dream, another dream-nightmare had brought him to think more of what had been happening lately or had really enabled him to remember what had been happening lately (there was something going on with how he was remembering things, but he couldn't seem to get a hold of it). Already the dream was fading as he went through his routine, getting ready for work. It seemed that despite being aware of the changes in his recallable memory, he still allowed some things to drift away (wasn't it easier that way?).

In the 15 minutes it took him to deem himself ready to start his car and head to work, only the vague feelings of the dream lingered like a low fog in the back of his mind.

They stayed with him throughout his evening shift, stubborn impressions of things he allowed himself to forget. Loss, detachment, and fear.

The notion that these feelings were important seemed to color the rest of his day, leaving him in a sour mood.

He found it difficult to slip back into work, but managed to once the Voices began flowing. Throughout the day, the Broadcast Assistant in the control room had to call Rich's name several times before Rich would answer. He soon became aware he was ignoring that part of the studio though he made no attempt to give it more attention despite the growing irritation of the assistant.

Rich answered calls, took requests, updated news and weather, and entertained the masses of LA with the ease of the expert he was. The hours seemed to roll by at a decent pace and soon enough (too soon, too soon) he was alone in the radio station-lights dimmed for the night.

The first few hours were relatively calm, natural for the world of radio. His paranoia did not help to alleviate his perception of this reality. Lately, it seemed every moment alone quickly turned to some unrecallable horror as quick as he could blink his eyes.

Needless to say, he was a little on edge… and exhausted. Since this whole debacle had begun, he'd hadn't necessarily been sleeping well. He slept like death when he was able to, but he often woke choking on a scream with no memory of what had come to pass. Thankfully, today at least, he had had some decent sleep, though the fear still remained.

He rubbed his shaking hands together to try to ease his anxiety before sifting through the next songs to play. His fingers trailed the edges of the record sleeves, feeling the small areas of wear and tear on the corners. It was comforting for him in the way that Speaking was. The familiar texture seemed to ground him or at least calm him in some primal, visceral way.

"Well, I nevah did see so sad a sight as dese, a grown man scared of 'is own shaduh," he spoke to the empty room, finally picking up the records he needed. "Come on boi, get yousself togethuh."

Slipping into his Voices seemed to help ease his nerves, though he often found he was too tired to use them effectively. He continued Speaking to himself infrequently over the next few hours inbetween calls from fans and casual listeners alike.

There were of course the odd calls complaining about lines crossing, laughing, and groans. And then there was a newer development in the weirdness coming over the line, growing more in frequency over the past week. Randomly, callers would come through, voices distorted, asking for songs-

"Can you play _Home is the Place_?"-that didn't exist.

"Are you sure that's the song name?" he'd ask.

"Ayuh," Rich would twitch, "I mean the whole title was like _the Place Where We're Waiting_ , right?"

"Can you give me some verses, man?" Static would slowly grow in the background of the call.

"You don't remember," the caller's voice would smooth out in pitch, so similar to someone he once lov-knew.

"You sang it up to my window," the static would start becoming rhythmic like laughter, "when mom had me-krch-quarantined for a bug bite… or could it have been-krch-Mike?"

Rich would slam the phone down before the caller could continue, before his imagination could conjure the image of whichever childhood friend or event the voice would invoke. Unfortunately, he could never slam it fast enough to prevent the images of reaching hands (constantly changing, reforming, moving toward him) from forming behind his closed eyelids.

The calls would change, always taking on the same vibe if you can dig it. Maybe they'd use one of his childhood nicknames or request him to say something in his Sancho Vanilla or Pickaninny Voice or some other Voice he had never used outside of Derry. (Derry? Where was…?)

He would warily watch the blinking light on the phone, cautiously listen to the ring between songs before answering as Rich Tozier, famous DJ, Man of a Thousand Voices, who couldn't be frightened of ghosts (or clowns).

The night was relatively normal-for a night DJ at least. A few callers with requests and shoutouts, Steve himself called him around ten to thank him for taking on so much time without complaint. He was no longer terrified to answer the phone when…

"Look out behind you!" a forcibly deep voice sounded, stuttered giggles in the background. A tiny spark of fear still lite in his chest despite the grossly apparent trick.

"Well, now, last time there was actually someone behind me it was that tricky broad from Seattle," he slipped into his Kinky Briefcase voice, much to the satisfaction of the would-be pranker if the increase in giggles were any sign. "I hope you actually know what you're doing though. I couldn't walk right for a week after what she put me through! Or I guess more accurately what she put in me."

The giggles quickly erupted into howls of laughter and the caller hung up. Rich sighed at the phone, shaking his head at his own reaction.

The rest of the night was relatively peaceful, passing like molasses. The fear was present like a dull murmur, spiking each time the phone rang or something settled. Upon finding it wasn't grounded in reality, it quickly sank back down to near background.

He dozed a little once the 1 AM mark passed, prepping up to 15 songs in advance, only changing for the rare request to come through. He had moved his chair as close to the wall as possible, still sure he could see the window of the control room. It helped ease his nerves somewhat though occasionally the thought of a rat backed into a corner would flit across his mind.

Rich was almost more comforted than frightened by the thought though. Something inside him told him that he was capable of more than he was aware of, a strange power coursed through his veins at seemingly-random intervals these days, but it somehow felt like it belonged to someone else. As if, when he really needed it, it might suddenly not be there.

It was better to focus on his surroundings though, the station was empty and quiet besides the music playing. No one seemed to be interrupting his sane, little life tonight, and for a moment he was content.

The few hours passed with relative ease, only the persistent remnants of his fear remaining like a looming shadow in the distance. Rich passed off control to the intern, almost surprised at the lack of any odd happenstances.

This intern reminded him of Eddie. This one was a small, anxious one, constantly fidgeting, but usually bright-eyed when he wasn't showing up for the night shift. For once, the connection to Eddie didn't break him down as it once would. Instead of the usual sadness, his attention was brought to the ominous apparition of his fear. As if the connection to Eddie somehow reminded him of the dread that seemed to pervade his entire life.

As Rich pondered what this could mean, he continued packing up his things and chatting with the younger man. They waved goodbye amicably enough and Rich continued out of the door. He was still paranoid as he left the station-paranoid and tired on some existential level he hadn't experienced since college. But a calm stillness seemed to fill him, a tentative hope that things were looking up.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I've been super busy! I've been trying to keep it updated every week, but I've been travelling a lot lately. This one is a little longer, so I hope it makes up for it. I've been trying to subtly imply what's revealed her, but I don't know if it really hits the mark. :P Anyway, this chapter features 'Dreams' by Fleetwood Mac. Enjoy!

Rich pulled himself into the lowered driver seat of his car, flicking the ignition into life, and wasted no time in leaving the parking lot. His bed was calling and he figured he could consider the vacillating mess of his life after at least 12 hours of sleep.

The radio (and his foot tapping) was finishing out Michael Jackson's _Beat It_ , as he made it onto the highway. He recognized the opening bass to _Dreams_ , grinning as he remembered Stevie Nicks saying in an interview (not with him, of course, KLAD was a little more modern rock focused) that she never tired of singing _Dreams_.

Secretly, Rich never tired of hearing her sing it either, even if it was a bit on the esoteric side. He turned the dial a little more as it started the lead up to the first chorus

_"listen carefully-y to the so-ound,"_ he sang along, _"Of your loneliness,"_

His mind trailed to Eddie again. He found himself melancholic, as if he should be upset that Eddie no longer brought him to such crushing despair.

_"Like a heartbeat, drives you ma-ad,"_

The small, beautiful boy who grew into a strong, beautiful man… who left a small, washed-out corpse they couldn't even give the decency of a burial to. Didn't he deserve to be grieved?

_"In the stillness of the memory of what you ha-ad,"_ Rich's voice rose with the chorus proper as he blinked away some errant tears.

_"And what you lost,"_ Louder still, without much thought to the song itself, as if he could drown out the odd feeling in his chest.

Wait-was that right? Were they really unable to bring-bury him? But… why?

His mouth (Voice?) kept moving along without his mind as usual. Surely, they had buried him, right?

He would've wanted potted flowers. He remembered Eddie's pensive face, when Stan had murmured, _"Why do you all use cut flowers? Are you trying to celebrate death with more death,"_ after Eddie Corcoran's funeral (it was an empty casket though, wasn't it? Did they know where the bodies went when they disappeared at that point?).

Rich was sure it would've been a small service, small church, maybe in their hometown-what was it-Derry? Surely, Rich was invited-surely it was why he left to go back, right? Right?

He remembered feeling like it was a funeral when he left, but then… How would he know what Eddie's mature voice sounded like if he was already dead?

Rich choked while humming to the tune of the electric guitar and the song continued on without him.

What had happened in Derry?

It was right on the tip of his tongue, right at the forefront of his hindbrain, but still eluding him. Images from the back of his mind _(the crypts, weren't they?)_ flooded his consciousness, yet he was unable to put them in order, put them back together.

As if to ground himself, he tuned back in to the music, startling at an accompanying knocking sound to the bass of the drums. Unsure of whether he was imagining such a small sound, he briefly glanced over the rearview mirror to the-wait! His eyes shot back to the mirror.

_"I keep my visions to myself,"_ Stevie Nicks sang, oblivious to Rich's plight.

The reflection in his rearview seemed warped as if it were bent, a dark blur in the middle of his backseat. He squinted through his glasses, not noticing a second voice softly joining the radio, until it grew louder.

_**"It's only me-e,"**_ the voice sung along, to his immediate right, _**"who wants to wrap around your dreams and,"**_

Finally sensing the new development, Rich ditched the mirror, jerking his head to stare at his passenger seat. Lounging there, as if it'd been in the car the entire time was the clown. Rich's heart froze in his chest at the slightly-amused expression. It cocked a highly-painted eyebrow.

**_"Have you any dreams you'd like to sell?"_**

Rich began hyperventilating as the clown lifted a hand to point ahead. He stared at the raised hand before suddenly realizing he was driving.

**_"Dreams of loneliness—"_** Rich tore his eyes from the still-singing clown and back to road, swerving out of the way of the barrier, _"like a heartbeat, drives you ma-ad,"_

One of the few drivers left on the road that late at night honked and flipped him off as they passed, but Rich had other things to worry about. If he didn't get off, he was going to crash, if he paid attention to the road, who knows what might happen with that thing in his front seat…

_**"In the stillness of remembering what you ha-ad,"**_ which, for the time being, seemed content to sing along with _Dreams_ of all things.

But wasn't there something else in the back? The music seemed to die away under the deafeningly sound of his heart beat.

Rich's eyes flicked to the rearview as he futilely searched for an exit ramp, a shoulder, anything. The reflection continued to distort and his mind supplied that perhaps it was Eddie (Eddie? Why Eddie? That doesn't…), but the edges of whatever it was seemed to sharpen, become colored at the thought. It was much bigger than Eddie had ever been. A stubborn piece of disjointed memory and realization fell into place.

There're two, his scrambled mind provided before he could stop it-as if the thought would confirm itself. He felt the clamminess of his sweating palms when his hands twitched-felt the heat pulsing in his heart (run _run RUN_ )-the ice in his veins. My neighbors, my countrymen, there were _two_.

Richie felt like vomiting, like screaming, like fleeing from his car, but his body wouldn't move. His muscles twitched uselessly like a broken current with live wires, dangerously poised, yet unable to provide any benefit to his situation at hand.

He was going to crash, he was sure of it. But a pale hand not unlike a snake approached from his peripheral view, brushing his right arm. His body froze up, his right side tensing to the point of pain as the hand slide forward to grab hold of the wheel and straighten it.

A switch went off in his brain, upon realizing the present intent of the hand, and his body relaxed to a more manageable intensity. But there was still the issue of-oh, God above-the realization he had just made.

There were two. Memory seemed to be flooding back to him as he franticly glanced between the passenger seat and rearview, yet no apparent explanation made itself known.

He could remember that this was the source of his constant horror, the low thrumming dread that never seemed to go away these days. He hadn't ever connected that there were two separate clowns before, but more pieces fell into place. The one in the backseat-was it actually there? Or just in the reflection?

Could they both be here at the same time? And wasn't something missing?

As he began trying to look over his shoulder, something alerted him to the fact that yes, something was missing. But it was never long behind.

That something being a hand on his knee from below and a breathless voice adding on to Richie's Horrible Fun (RUN) Time Sing Along in the car.

_**"When the rain wash-hes you clean, you will kno-ow,"** /em> the third voice broke into vocals unaccompanied by Stevie Nicks or passenger seat clown. Richie's eyes were squeezed shut at the possibility that he was this fucked in his own car, yet he couldn't help cracking them open to peek when he heard tinkling laughter._

__

"I always get that part wrong. She only goes off like that during the last line, right, Mr. DJ?" Eddie asked. Rich stared in a mix of terror and astonishment. It always looked just like him-albeit a little pale, sounded just like him, this shade of his first love. Sometimes, Richie could even punish himself enough to imagine Eddie was still here…

__

"Definitely not my best entrance," Eddie continued, pulling himself up by his hold on Richie's knee. Eddie's other arm was prominently missing. Richie twitched, hands almost reaching out to help. "Tight as shit down here," Eddie huffed before settling half on Richie's lap as if he'd given up.

__

_Haven't we sat like this before? Eddie's head in my lap,_ Richie thought, unable to control the emotions surging in his chest.

__

_"You will know. O-oh, o-oh, o-oh, you'll know,"_ Eddie sang the last lines along with the radio. As far as Rich could tell, passenger seat clown had lost interest (though he didn't dare check). "There! That's it! Knew I'd get it.

__

"This was always one of my favorite songs," Eddie said. "Myra's, too. We'd call in to the radio just to request anything from _Rumours_ when we knew the other was waiting on a client. Although, maybe I was actually trying to somehow get through to some hotshot DJ on the other side of the country." Eddie laughed again, though the edge was a little harder this time.

__

"How'd you think that would work out?" Richie asked, his mouth moving without concern for consequence.

__

"Doesn't really matter. I'm talking to you now, aren't I?" Eddie looked up at him, his expression dark. "Although, I guess this is a little different than calling. And it doesn't seem like you've actually been listening to me."

__

Richie frowned, unsure if the conversation would steer toward its usual route, as Eddie seemed to shift up from under the steering wheel.

__

"You said once that you'd do anything for me. After everything I've done for you, you could at least honor my one request. Hell, I'll repeat it again so we can all be sure," Eddie said. Richie flinched, feeling a change in the atmosphere, but Eddie continued with a pleading expression. Was it that look in his eyes making Richie so anxious?

__

"Bring me out of the dark, Richie. _Please._ There's barely any light, no warmth, there's no one down here but me," Eddie begged, his hand clenched in Richie's shirt. Richie felt his own face crumple. "Please."

__

"B-but you're dead, Eddie, I-I can't—"

__

"Need I remind you, it was due to your own failings, that I basically died at your hands?" The hand on Richie's shirt reached higher.

__

"I-I know! But what dif—"

__

"Then make it right!" Eddie yelled, his hand around Richie's throat-not tight enough to hurt, but enough to imply a threat. "Take me out, make up for what you put me through!" The hand around Richie's throat relaxed, moving up to thread through his hair.

__

"Besides," Eddie gently forced Richie to tilt his head back. Above him, leaning over the head of his seat was the grinning face of one of the clowns. An errant, insane thought ran through Richie's head about where the other one was and who was even driving the car?

__

"We have something we'd like to show you," Eddie whispered into Richie's neck. Richie's eyes flitted down to Eddie than to the other clown's impossibly close face. A hand from behind Richie covered his eyes as teeth brushed

__

_("So sharp!"_

__

_"Why, all the better to eat you with my dear.")_

__

against his pounding jugular.

__

_Oh, God, they're going to—_ Richie never did get to finish that thought.

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PS I finally figured out how to make italics and bold, so I'm probably going to be editing that into the previous chapters, haha.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have my own theories of how/why Stan killed himself, but I don't really go into it here, just kind of skim by it. I drafted a comic on it, but I'm not sure I'll ever finish it. Anyway, we're heading into the climax of the story and I'm back to my usual updating schedule! (hopefully...) Enjoy!

Rich felt he was starting to lose whole days now. He had fractured memories of something (some things?) haunting him, but he couldn't always remember what it _(It)_ was.

No one seemed to notice though and it made him feel even crazier if possible. Somehow, he was able to pull that face back together like he was ok every morning and everyone else seemed to fall for it. He had planned to wait until work died down to do anything about it, but it proved to be so difficult he wasn't sure he was going to make it.

Rich glanced around the studio as he thought. _Here I am thinking I can make it another couple of weeks, can I even make it another day, another hour?_

He dimly wondered if he should really get around to seeing a psychologist, but he knew no human on the planet could understand what he had been through so he kept his mouth shut and kept living…

Until his harrowing situation took another nosedive.

They all appeared to him that time and unlike before they left marks. A bruise on his forearm, a gash down his leg, a black eye, strangest of all a hickey behind his ear. While he was unsure of who dealt the injuries (by this point, he had realized there were actually different clowns, which seemed concrete his idea that this was all in his head because God above, if there was more than one), he was sure how the last one had come to be.

Eddie's shade had kissed him before-he still couldn't help feeling guilty about his… fantasies, as he called them-but the imaginings had never been quite so heated, at least not since he was a teenager. Rich would have been more embarrassed, but something about the whole encounter made him question whether it was imagined or not.

First, there were the marks of course. Nothing had really stayed behind before and this obviously held some unfortunate implications for Rich and his working hypothesis that he was going crazy.

There was something else though of course.

Eddie (and the clowns) had started this incident by once again mentioning they were waiting for him down below and Richie had been stupid enough to suggest that the "down below" they prattled on about was hell. This was met with laughter from Eddie and unfortunately anger from the clowns.

The pain from their blows felt real enough and after the moment had passed, they threatened that his situation would only get worse if he continued ignoring their warnings. They were waiting for him under Derry and if he didn't hurry up, they'd come to him when he was old-"until you're begging for death really,"-and keep him alive in the Outside. Forever.

They went on and on about the consequence of eternity, the consequence of crossing them.

It was enough complexity that he couldn't deny it came from a creature that didn't view time the same way that he did. It was also enough creativity that he wondered if it could've even come out of his own mind's imagination (he was still holding on to the possibility that his guilt was fueling these visions).

After a painfully long conversation about the stages of grief and madness Rich would experience, Eddie managed to convince them to back off-something else that expanded Rich's horizons of possible outcomes. One thing led to another and well, here he was. Of course, Rich was too terrified to really enjoy things as they were (unlike once upon a time), but he managed not to completely freak out.

He did not manage to stay conscious the entire time though and an intern-the same, stuttering, shaky intern-found him in the parking lot. Rich remembered feeling a tinge of affection for the intern-darkened by some nagging, unplaced regret-before the intern began yelling at the marks covering Rich's body. Fortunately, any awkward marks were well-hidden enough and after coming out to see what the noise was about, Steve finally took pity on him-convinced he'd been mugged after leaving work in the early hours (Rich made no attempt to deny that).

Rich got a few days off work and for a split second, considered going to see a psychiatrist. The phone was in his hand, the phonebook propped open on the table, when a scratch on one of his forearms caught his eye. He hadn't really had a chance to thoroughly examine the injuries left by what he was starting to doubt was a hallucination, so he catered to the passing whim to look at the extent of the mark.

Rich lifted his sleeve-crusty from his own blood (Steve had tried to insist he go to a doctor, but Rich had waved him off, saying he just wanted to sleep forever and then deal with it). He sucked in a breath as he reopened the wound where it had clotted into his clothing. He stopped breathing entirely when he realized the gashes vaguely resembled letters-words cut into his arms. 'D'-

A chubby, terrified child passed through his mind, screaming that someone had cut into him. Rich found himself crying as he continued pulling back his sleeves. 'D', 'O', 'Y'—the phone dropped.

'DO YOU WANT TO KNOW,'? spread across his left forearm. Rich couldn't remember them spending enough time to carve words into him. Did he want to know what? Whether he was crazy or this was an actual sign of the supernatural being he had helped kill? Whether It still planned to kill him or was actually dead?

His right forearm itched, almost like an answer to his question. Ben was shaking his head fervently in Rich's mind's eye, but Rich watched his arms move to lift the other sleeve. It was the same story there, the wound attempting to heal around his shirt sleeve. Rich carefully lifted the cloth in a piss-poor attempt to prevent reopening the wound, but really to give himself every chance to just stop. To call the psychiatrist or Bill or any one of the Seven to help him stop himself.

His hand lifted the clothing. He had a chance to finish reading-

'HOW THE JEW DIED?'

-before he abruptly lost 15 minutes.

For once, Richie was completely aware of the time he had lost and what had occurred during it. It was not something he wanted to think about or relive, but he immediately understood that this was not something that was going away on its own.

'IT.'

His hands had frozen in the last stroke of the 'T'. Richie stared at the word mirroring the one he had seen in his vision-spread across his living room wall. He knew if anyone besides the Seven (Five now, wasn't it? His heart seemed to shatter all over again) were to come to his home, they wouldn't see it. And if any of the Seve-Five _(try not to think about it)_ had come to his home, they would immediately know all that he had experienced.

Richie promptly threw up everything he had eaten in the past half day.

As he lay there panting, pointedly avoiding gazing at the word marring his home, Richie knew it no longer mattered if this was something he was making up in his head. If it was affecting him this much-if he was somehow accessing the monster's memories (or worse making up his own) in his guilt-driven grief, it wouldn't go away until he satisfied it.

Feeling more exhausted than he had in a while, Richie dragged himself up and out of the house. He walked to the nearest payphone and called his travel agent for the second time in the span of a couple of months.

He was headed back to Derry. To where it all began.

This time to end it once and for all.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is prettty long, but I couldn't find a good place to split it up. We've got two more chapters after this! Forgive me for the cliffhanger :) Enjoy!

It was easy getting down there. Not much had even changed from when they had crawled out of the hell beneath Derry. The only thing Rich could tell was that the hole had grown and the town looked more deserted than when he'd left it.

Still, he had to wait until nightfall to start his descent into the dark underbelly of Derry-there were still cops and even a few established families around. Rich wondered if they would ever be able to bring the town to its former..mediocrity, maybe? He wasn't sure and didn't plan to stick around long enough to find out.

Rich would get in, satisfy his lingering survivor's guilt, bring up the body (hopefully), and put this whole thing to rest-literally. There wasn't really any option if there was something other than a corpse waiting for him down there, was there? And he figured whatever it was would have its own plans anyway. And without the rest of the Losers, he would quickly become a corpse himself.

It didn't help that he didn't know where to go at first and panicked-old memories bubbled to the surface like those faces he'd seen down there the first time-the first time—

And suddenly he knew. Take a right. It was like a force guiding him softly, pulling him by the hand he was holding the flashlight with (for once he had come prepared).

He tried to memorize the path, but quickly lost track of the lefts and rights and down down downs.

The force was kind, felt like a companion, felt like comfort and safety and _Eddie_. But Rich knew something else _must_ be down here and he was able to discern the tainted underside-barely contained ferocity, longing, obsession. He was unsure of whether this was Its stain on the person he once-still-always-loved or something else he could not explain.

He was unsure of whether he would care either way if Eddie was truly alive.

Rich crawled through the tunnels, the smell revealing more and more memories to him. It was different now though-the smell that is. It was similar to Its own scent, but different now-fading, not as strong. He couldn't put his finger on it, the feel was somehow less frightening, less _established_ if you can dig it.

He made it to the cavern, the huge chasm that expanded in all directions around him. He briefly wondered if he'd float away like they did when they weren't holding hands or huddled together in the dark. He quickly shook the thought out of his head as he felt a vague dissociation from himself.

Purposefully, Rich approached the door, now blank besides a few cobwebs. This was where they had left Eddie. Rich was simultaneously alarmed and not at all surprised to see the body was not where they had left it.

On one hand, it confirmed that maybe he was not going completely crazy from his guilt. Yet on the other hand, how else could he explain what had been happening to him? Besides the obvious reason, of course.

The child-sized door was slightly ajar and that almost made the situation worse. Rich stared at it a moment before dropping to his hands and knees and charging through. It squeaked a little and Rich flinched, before quickly admonishing himself. _Anything that's alive probably already knows you're here, stupid._

He stood in Its chambers, webbing still evident in corners, but slowly, surely fading. There were corpses-some half eaten, some preserved-around the room. Rich quickly shone the flashlight across to the dark corner It had escaped through twice-once to heal itself, once to die.

Rich made to begin that way, before he heard a rustling from the tunnel. His heart stopped. What would he see down here? What would he—

"Richie?" a voice called out, before coughing. The rustling-he now recognized it as footsteps-approached. His stomach sank even as his heart soared. Could he even believe his ears?

"Eds?" Richie asked, before running toward the corner.

"Wait!" the voice shouted and the urgency in it made Richie stop in his tracks. "I've been down here a while, don't shine that thing in my face, I'll go blind! It happened to some miners back in the 70's!" Richie felt tears brimming his eyes-no creature on Earth could replicate an Eddie Kaspbrak health lecture. He angled the flashlight down and continued running.

"And don't call me that, you know I—" Richie grabbed hold of the smaller man, lifting him and spinning him around.

"Eddie!" Richie yelled, kissing the man on his cheeks, his forehead, anywhere he could reach.

"Richie!" Eddie laughed for a moment, before patting Richie's back harder than necessary. "Put me down, you huge drama queen!"

Richie released him, holding him at arm's length to get a better look. Eddie gazed up at him, their grins almost matching in vivacity. Eddie's arm was still gone, but the stump was tied off with some tight bandages that extended under his dirty clothes. His other looked like it had been reset and was held with what looked terrifying similar to webbing. The smaller man was dirty-far more than he would've tolerated in any other situation for sure-but he was still beautiful and so Eddie that Richie could hardly breath for his own happiness.

"I didn't think you'd come back for me," Eddie's eyes shined even in the dim light the flashlight reflected off the walls from where Richie had absent-mindedly dropped it. There was something off about the light there, but Richie easily disregarded it.

"If I'd have known, I… I never would've left," Richie replied, still holding Eddie's shoulders, his neck, his face. "H-How…?"

Eddie looked away somewhat.

"There's-There's something I need to tell you, Richie, but I-I think we should at least sit down or catch up or something first?" he offered and Richie felt the familiar uncertainty and fear crawling back up.

"Eddie, how did you survive?"

Eddie looked up again and Richie could see it now-the faint reflection of light

_(star light, deadlights,_

_oh won't you float with us tonight?)_

in his eyes. Richie's grip tightened somewhat.

"I wasn't dead," Eddie started. "I was unconscious. I think It was trying to pull me-at least one of us-in with Its final moments. I think I was in the Outside. I don't remember much because I was dying, but Bev was helping-she kept me alive long enough… long enough to…" Eddie trailed off, before slumping to the floor, dragging Richie to sit beside him.

"Who was in charge of killing Its children?" Eddie asked, suddenly. Richie's stomach sank, but he didn't immediately connect the dots.

"Ben, why?" Eddie tore his gaze away, breaking eye contact.

"He didn't get all of them."

Richie felt like his entire world was collapsing around him. It wasn't alive-they _had_ killed It, but they hadn't finished the job. If Its children had survived, then…?

"He got most of them," Eddie rambled, his voice changing-the pitch fluctuating. Richie stared on in dull horror-his hands had dropped to his sides. "We heard them-our siblings-cry out their last breath as he crushed the life from them. We didn't stand a chance really. Funny, you held It in reprehension for doing the same to your own young."

"Eddie," Richie felt his mouth get out around numb lips.

"But that's neither here nor now, is it?" Eddie's eyes had taken on their own sort of glow in the darkness and Richie fought the urge to scout backward from him. "We were smaller-your kind would've called us runts. It-our mother, our father-thought we would be the only ones to die of Its brood, but Fate is so funny.

"We barely gave off any light. We were smart-smarter than our larger siblings, or at least more desperate. We hid among their corpses and we crawled and crawled and crawled our pathetic way-struggling-dying to live really-" Eddie put his head down, shaking it. Richie silently begged him to just stop, please stop, he didn't want to hear it.

"The ones that managed to survive Ben are strewn across the tunnel and this room-only two made it to Tom's corpse-only one made it to-to me." Eddie flinched. "I was still alive and Bev must've been caught up in mourning. One of the smallest made it to me and-and slipped inside."

"Don't-" Richie managed to find his voice again.

"Fr-from my understanding," Eddie choked out, regardless. "It thought you would take me with you, get me help and therefore, get it help. It needed a body to help it completely form, something to shelter it from the world-like the premmie bassinets at the hospitals. We-They," Eddie shook his head again, "weren't ready to born yet. It couldn't fix me-couldn't heal me, but it could block the bleeding and it did. I was still in a coma-when you're dying from blood loss, your body shuts down to reserve energy-but I wasn't dying anymore.

"Unfortunately, for it, you all _left_ us," his voice became a growl and Richie flinched. "So, it took days for me to wake up and a week for us to move more than just necessary to stave off the thirst."

"Eddie, I'm so—" Richie started, but Eddie cut him off with a snarl.

"I drank my own spent blood, Richie. I don't think sorry's going to—" Eddie sighed, his mouth twitching. He gently leaned his head down to rest on Richie's shoulder. "It's-It's alright. I know why you did it, I know you wanted to bring me. I honestly think it's better it turned out this way. I think if you guys had brought me and got me help, it would be much more in control."

"Wh-what do you mean?" Richie asked, softly.

"I think it's pretty obvious, Trashmouth," Eddie stifled a giggle. "We worked together to bring me back to health. If I hadn't contributed anything, it might've gotten strong enough to keep me in the Outside or keep me mentally submissive. As things are, in order to keep me alive, we've had to come to a sort of agreement." Richie still felt sick to his stomach, but found he was running a hand through Eddie's hair.

"Is there any way we could…?" Richie trailed off meaningfully and Eddie actually chuckled this time, albeit a little darkly.

"It's inside me, Richie, do you even know the damage it could do before I even had the inkling to try?" Richie nodded.

" _I don' know, Senior, I've got ze flashlight y ze knife,_ " Richie slipped into a Voice, subconsciously. Eddie grinned at him, shaking his head exasperatedly.

"Good to know your Voices are shit again." He replied. "No, I've-I've come to terms with it. It's not _It_ -this is Its child. I wasn't even supposed to survive and-and I guess things could be worse."

"Yeah," Richie trailed off, remembering what Eddie had mentioned earlier. "We could be a guy who dropped dead at the sight of a pregnant spider? Who apparently is a home for said spider's wayward children now?" Richie glanced around for said corpse, suddenly worried at the prospect of two more tiny Its running around.

"About that…" Eddie looked around as well. "They should be done by now." He added almost as an afterthought.

"What?" Richie asked. "Done with what?" Eddie's eyes seemed to glaze over for a moment, before he sidled Richie a look-one he unfortunately could not decipher.

"The ones that took Tom's body-they were a little larger than the one that got to me, so they've actually been fighting over the remains." Eddie explained, seeming to be focused on something else.

"Like to eat, or…?" Richie's eyes trailed to where he guessed the door to the chamber was. Was Tom's body still there when he came in? He couldn't quite remember.

"Probably, I think they were going to try and use it as a body until they fully-formed, but I don't know if it's still suitable for that."

"You don't know?" Richie whipped to face Eddie again, who still seemed to be zoning out. "Eds?"

Eddie looked up at him with narrowed eyes. "I've been trying to avoid them. When they're fighting, it's like they're continuously screaming in my head. It kind of hurts sometimes to be honest. And don't call me Eds—"

"I know, I know. So, you're just letting them duke it out-maybe hoping they take each other out?"

"I mean, _I_ am." Richie gave him a confused look. Eddie chuckled. "The wayward child occupying _my_ body would prefer to have at least one sibling left in this lonely world."

Richie could tell Eddie meant it as a joke, but it struck the wrong cord somehow. "We could help them along, if you feel me." Richie nudged the smaller man beside him who offered a tired smile.

"You think little wayward's gonna let me involve myself in all that?" Eddie gestured to his missing arm, raising an eyebrow.

"True, buuutttt…" Richie stood up suddenly. "Little wayward doesn't have any power over _my_ life." He winked before reaching for the flashlight. Eddie might be infected with the last dredges of It, but as far as Richie was concerned, that would be the only remains of It in this world.

"Wait-what?" Eddie asked, attempting to stand.

"I'm not sure how much control that one has over you, but I'm about to ensure this ends with us. I'm going to finish what we started." Eddie finally managed to stand, as Richie was running the light of the flashlight across the chamber. "I'll get them while they're down and we can get out of here."

"Wait, Richie, no!" Eddie shouted, running toward him. As he got within a few feet, Richie whipped around with the flashlight to face him. Eddie shrunk back from the beam somewhat.

"Eddie, don't let that thing control you! We have to do this, we can't let It spread!"

"No, you don't understand Richie! They're not letting—" Eddie took a step forward.

"Letting us what?" Richie shouted back, feeling his anger and fear get the best of him. He couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn't right. "What aren't you telling me?"

Eddie had shrunk somewhat at the volume of Richie's voice, but suddenly the smaller man steeled his expression.

"I'm sorry, Richie." Before Richie could respond, Eddie solidly pushed him backwards. Only having one arm though, Eddie's force was not enough to push Richie over and he stumbled to catch himself. Unfortunately for Richie, he tripped over something that had only moved there once the conversation had turned south.

Richie crashed into the ground, his head cracking against it last, narrowly avoiding a concussion. Something was immediately on him, forming in the moments before his vision cleared.

Richie was not surprised to see Pennywise shaping above him.

"Can't you be a little more creative, fuckface?" he muttered as he moved to push it off. And even though, the thing (things?) felt heavy, had substance, Richie felt a familiar power rushing through him. He easily rolled the shape over and reveled in its shocked face.

Richie began punching it-the only thing he could think of doing-before a better strategy pushed to the forefront of his mind. If Ben was able to kill them by crushing them, maybe he could do the same. As quick as he could, Richie stood and stomped on the creature with all the force of his weight.

It screeched beneath him, but he continued trying to crush it even as it tried to slither away. As Richie raised his foot for what he hoped would be the killing blow, something else struck the back of his head. Foggily, he realized he'd forgotten about Eddie as he fell to the ground.

Dazed, Richie watched the other man rush to the mewling, writhing things on the ground. When Eddie noticed Richie's eyes were still open, he sharply turned toward him.

"Richie, why?" Richie couldn't seem to form an intelligible response as he could barely understand the question. "I was trying to save us, I… I can't protect you now. I-I'm sorry."

Richie tried to lift himself to answer, but found Eddie blocking him from rising. "You brought this upon yourself… it might not even be enough for them." The arm on his back moved and Richie gazed over, feeling his consciousness slipping, only knowing something was wrong and he needed to stay awake.

"Edd—" the raspy word died in his throat as he finally saw what Eddie was talking about. The smaller man was collecting the remains of the dying creatures with his one hand, but that wasn't right was it?

A monstrous spiky leg extended from the bandaged stub on the opposite side. This was what was holding him down. A scream formed in the back of Richie's throat as the ends of the horrific appendage seemed to melt around his torso, pushing him farther into the ground.

Eddie afforded Richie a glance as the scream escaped as a small squeak. The deadlights seemed to shine through his hooded eyes.

_You brought this upon yourself…_ The words seemed to echo in Richie's mind and he renewed his struggles even as sharp pain filled his head. Eddie moved toward him and the atrocious appendage moved with him. Richie finally managed to scream when the still-forming limb forced its way into his mouth, opening it at the jaw.

"It should only hurt for a moment. I'm sorry." Eddie began force feeding him the pieces of Its' other children. As Richie tried gagging, tried vomiting, Eddie continued. "I might still be able to save you. It's just going to be much more difficult… Don't struggle, they're still alive." True to his word, Richie could feel them squirming down his throat as his entire body felt like it was slowly catching on fire from the inside out. He screamed around the moving pieces, tears streaming from his eyes as the pain kept rising.

"You almost ruined it, Richie. This is your punishment, but don't worry." Eddie cooed. Richie felt his eyes shutter close on their own. "We'll take care of you, I promise."

And then Richie knew no more.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some explaining, some falling action, one more after this one! Enjoy!

Eddie blearily gazed through the opening, feeling his strength weaken. Its' child did not answer his implied question, but indicated they were close. Eddie readjusted Richie's unmoving body with his borrowed arm.

He sighed and wondered if things had gone too far, if he should've explained everything to start with, but the voice accompanying his thoughts seemed to think that he had messed it up by saying too much.

Eddie groaned and continued climbing through the tunnels. At least Richie was moderately safe now-as long as he lasted until they reached the surface. Eddie knew this had been against the original plan the monster within him had pushed, but with the way things had turned out, Richie might have more control. And if Eddie was honest with himself, he didn't mind Its' other children being injured.

Eddie continued on, using his internal compass to find his way out of the hellish sewers. It wasn't as easy as it once was-there was the constant distraction of the little It inside his mind-but he managed to get them most of the way before the creature inside him ran out of the power behind his fabricated arm.

"Really?" he asked as Richie fell to the floor. There was only the equivalent of a groan in answer as it slipped further back in his mind. The one occupying his body truly was the runt of Its' brood and seemed unable to keep up its shape sifting for extended periods of time. It was currently using Eddie's body as a barrier from the outside world as it developed.

He had grown used to its near-constant chattering in the weeks it had taken residence inside him. Occasionally it would try to take control of his body, yet often failed due to its own weakness-expedited by keeping his body (its only protection) alive. It had also tried to make its siblings help, but they were only interested in taking control of Eddie's body by force to escape the underground. The runt refused to give up its prime real estate, so they remained in the sewers until they came up with another plan.

Eddie was the one to realize they had a connection to Richie through the Outside. He didn't quite understand it, despite the others explaining it-rather condescendingly-several times. (He never tried to connect to Bill. It just didn't-he just _couldn't_.)

Either way, one day he was able to see Richie as he dreamt and from there, it was only a matter of trial and error for the remaining children of It to project images to him. Of course, they were prone to use fear-inducing projections and when Eddie was assisting them, he often found himself caught up in the mix of three otherworldly beings. Which, in retrospect, was probably what took them so long to convince Richie to come.

Speaking of Richie, Eddie carefully lifted him with his still-healing arm. A sharp bolt of pain shot up his arm and Eddie moaned. He pulled Richie up and bit his lip through the pain.

_It's just like getting a shot, isn't it,_ he thought. His mother's hysteric voice seemed to ricochet afterward. _"A little pain is nothing compared to polio!"_

Despite himself, Eddie chuckled and it echoed off the sewer walls. As was typical those days, his laughter quickly grew fevered until he was crying-sobbing really-as he held Richie in the dark.

Eddie found it easy to convince the doctors that they needed a shared room. Being a few weeks after the incident downtown, the hospital had released most of the survivors though it was still low on staff. Richie had been rushed into emergency surgery and Eddie had agreed to have himself looked over while Richie would be out. He knew they would try to reset his arm after he'd dragged Richie from the sewers while it still wasn't fully healed, but he managed to convince them he didn't need to be put under.

It was a gross negligence of them to agree, but Eddie knew his research and he knew he had to be awake when Richie woke up. He couldn't afford to be under or coming off anesthesia when the shit hit the fan.

It didn't even hurt that much-compared to the pain of something foreign moving in his veins, his organs, filtering out the poison (the bodies It left behind… It itself, he quickly shook the memory away) Eddie had been forced to eat in the sewers. It had never been particularly kind while keeping him alive and it seemed to revel in the pain it caused him, so a simple bone resetting with local anesthetic was really nothing at this point.

He still hadn't slept when they wheeled Richie into recovery, but he lifted himself up to go sit next to the unconscious man. He couldn't seem to rest when there was so much at stake. How much would Richie remember? Could he forgive Eddie? Would he understand?

There were of course other issues feeding into Eddie's anxiety. How far gone were the other children of It? Would they be able to influence Richie? Would Richie actually be there when he woke? Had he assisted their enemy in killing one of his allies-one of his friends?

Then, a nagging feeling from the voice accompanying his thoughts. Was Mike still in Derry?

Eddie himself was not as concerned with Mike's whereabouts-he actually would jump at the chance to see him again after what he went through in the sewers, but of course, there was the issue of what he'd planned to happen with Richie… and the children of It still being alive.

It might be best for both of them if Mike had already abandoned the town.

While mulling over the many possible outcomes and ways the situation could become more fucked up than it already was, Eddie found his hands nervously gripping Richie's arm. It was familiar as he had probably done so with all of the Seven and vice versa at some point during their trials with the monster that pursued them unceasingly.

Eddie settled further beside Richie as he felt his train of thought slipping down different tangents, imagining getting lost in the infinite maze of his mind. At one time, Eddie could have wandered those paths endlessly-keying himself up into a panic attack only his inhaler could fix, but he was older (and his inhaler had been destroyed with It). It was simple enough to calm his breathing with techniques he'd learned from classes his wife made him take (he wondered briefly how she was doing-had he been announced dead yet?).

It was only a few more moments before he was unconscious, hands still wrapped tight around Richie.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter! I might write an epilogue, but I also like where this one ended. So for now, I'm going to say it's finished. Thanks to everyone who stuck with it to the end! I hope you enjoyed it!

Eddie had managed a believable story to the doctors-they had been downtown when the 'sinkhole' opened and had managed to survive under the town for a few weeks, feeding on rats. Eddie had told them he was old Dr. Keene's great nephew, Brian Tanner, that he had planned on finally picking up the remains of the inheritance from when the old bastard had died. He knew he couldn't expect Richie to stick to a lie so he just told them exactly who he was.

Richard Tozier wasn't supposed to be dead so there was that too.

Sure, Eddie could have just used his real name as well, it's not like they had confirmed he was dead. But he wanted an out in case he wasn't able to face Myra and tell her goodbye one final time. It was a selfish thing for him to do, but he was sure she would die for him if he asked. She didn't deserve what Its child might force him to do to her with that kind of undying loyalty.

Eddie had moderate control over the creature at best. He couldn't risk doing anything too rash. Not after what had happened with Richie.

Speaking of the man, he was gazing tiredly at Eddie when the cramps in his body managed to stir him awake.

"Richi—" Eddie started.

"Don't," Richie cut him off, sighing. Eddie's cringe was barely visible. Richie was still there, but that meant he remembered Eddie's betrayal. Eddie looked away, he understood.

"I'm not sure if I forgive you yet."

Eddie looked back up at Richie-who was gazing at the window.

"Yet?" he asked, not daring to hope. Richie sighed again.

"I know why you did it. I got enough from the other two to understand what the plan was," Richie said. "I know you were trying to get us both out with as much intact as possible. I know what they put you through… I just wish-and I don't know exactly how much control you have, I just…"

"I should've told you more. While you were still in California. I could've then-I tried-it was-I just-I didn't," Eddie faltered for a moment. He took a deep breath, still missing his inhaler. "Part of me didn't want to drag you into this! That part wanted me to just give in, sever our link so it was just me. But I knew… I knew what they would do to me. I-I didn't want to be alone. We're nothing when we're alone, I'd just go back to being the fragile kid with asthma who couldn't go against his mom to the point where he married her…

"And it's not like they helped. I-I know it doesn't excuse it or make what I did go away, but I was so upset-so angry that you-of all people-left me and I became the thing I-we hated and feared most. And that _thing_ kept feeding on those feelings and making them worse and just… I couldn't take it anymore.

"You were the only one who stepped in when Bill was in trouble. You were the only one who-who I stepped in for, who I actually sacrificed myself for. I guess I convinced myself you owed me. And I know that's not true, I just-I'm sorry, Richie. I'm so sorry."

There was a moment of silence in the hospital room.

"You're right, you were selfish and just because you apologize, doesn't make it go away," Richie started. Eddie flinched more visibly this time. "I don't owe you anything…

"But that doesn't mean I wouldn't have come."

Eddie finally met his eyes, feeling the lump in his chest grow.

"Even if I had known everything.

"You meant-mean a lot to me, Eddie. I always admired that you were honest-I mean it was always difficult for us to lie to each other, but you were always first to acknowledge your mistakes. I wish you would've told me coming in. Maybe I could've helped or…

"But at the end of the day, what's done is done. If we're going to make… whatever this is work, I need that honesty. We need to have a long talk and I need to have it with you-not the thing inside you."

Eddie nodded, tears forming in his eyes. "I don't know if—"

_"You'll figure it out or I'll just kill us both to get this over with,"_ Richie interrupted him with a Voice Eddie had never heard before. The tears fell immediately from his eyes, whether in fear or regret or some other emotion, he was unsure.

Eddie nodded again and set to talking, using all his will power to repress the screaming thing in his mind.

It took several hours for both of them to come to a consensus. Nurses and doctors interrupted them constantly, but they slipped into normal conservation with ease as if they were children with an inconceivable secret again.

Eddie usually did not repress Its child for this long of a period of time-it usually became incensed with him and made sure to make its displeasure known in the pain Eddie felt throughout his body. He just hadn't had the energy to do so in the past few weeks, but in the moment, he felt an old, familiar power coursing through his veins despite the pain.

Richie told him that the remnants of the other children were weak-nearly gone from the damage he had dealt-though Richie said he felt they could regain their strength and fortitude if he didn't keep them under tight check.

"Maybe it's something like the powers we had, as long as we believe in them hard enough, they hold true," Richie had said, laughing. Eddie couldn't help but think about how hard it was to believe when they were adults.

Richie continued with what he knew, what he figured would eventually happen to them as hosts to other-worldly beings (nothing good, either of them hypothesized), what he wanted to do despite what had happened.

Eddie told Richie what their plan had been, how much control he shared with Its child, the weeks in the sewers, his view of the Outside, everything. He couldn't help apologizing again and again before Richie punched him in the arm, telling him to shut up.

They talked until they felt exhausted again and kept talking, reminiscing, considering options for the future. They called Mike from the hospital, though he didn't answer. They considered calling Bill or Ben and Bev, but neither of them had any way to find their numbers.

They sat in silence for a while as the sun set on the day, trying for a semblance of comfort.

"Should we just…?" Eddie trailed off. He was holding Richie's hand, running his fingertips over the knuckles. There were bandages from where Richie had punched the shade of It.

"Off ourselves?" Richie finished for him, never one to shy away from the raw truth. They both considered it for a moment.

"No, I think that was Stan's way out," Richie finally replied. "I think we're too deep in to really get out of it now."

Neither of them mentioned how it hadn't helped Stan anyway, that they both knew he was in the Outside now so far away from any of them (and yet he felt close enough that maybe they could just…).

They didn't speak about it beyond that though. The wound was still fresh, probably would never heal to know that they had failed one of their own so terribly.

"No, I think we need to head toward some semblance of a future. Even if we managed to do it, there's no guarantee this would end. Sometimes, I honestly think it was never our mission to eradicate It from this world.

"Sure the Turtle put us in charge of that-made us believe it was our purpose. But I don't think he ever expected us to succeed. No, I think he just wanted us to destroy as much of Its stain as possible."

"We managed to get pretty far," Eddie conceded, smiling tiredly. "3 out of however many hundred isn't bad."

"Maybe 1 and a half at this point," Richie chuckled. "We did good. We halved the survivors. I think we deserve a break."

"I think we deserve a vacation," Eddie giggled. Richie beamed down at him.

"I have a few more days and a couple thousand in cash," He wiggled his eyebrows. They both broke into sleep-deprived cackles.

Eddie wiped a few errant tears from his face, considered Richie for a moment, then nodded.

"If you can walk, let's get the fuck outta this shithole."

"If I can't walk, you're fucking carrying me."

They were gone before the next nurse rounds, leaving only questions, folded sheets, and a missing wheelchair.

**Author's Note:**

> I'd love to hear any comments or questions so far. Most chapters will be about this length, but there are two which I may split up. We'll see when we get there. Thanks for reading!


End file.
